


Don't Argue; Just Do It

by anidalah



Series: Kim's Life is Strange Drabble Compilation [8]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mentioned suicide, Rape, Suicidality, drabble challenge, freeze response, mentioned child abuse, noncon, tonic immobility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anidalah/pseuds/anidalah
Summary: Nathan didn’t know how everything had spiraled out of control.





	Don't Argue; Just Do It

Nathan didn’t know how everything had spiraled out of control.

Things seemed like they’d been going so perfectly.  After months of rejection and pain, Mark was taking an interest in him again.  They were going to work on projects and things were getting back on track.  They’d only done one new project since reuniting, less than a week before, and already things were fucked.

He should’ve known he was being taped.  It was obvious, looking back on the night, that Victoria was recording the whole Kate fiasco; it wasn’t like she was hiding the fact.  But he was too focused on the mission at hand, too worried about getting Kate out of the room before the dose fully took her under.  Things would surely look a lot more suspicious if he was seen with a fully unconscious Kate Marsh instead of one that just looked drunk as fuck.

When the video was let out, he was told to deal with it but how could he?  Even if he managed to figure out a way to get Victoria to take it down without sounding sketchy as fuck, someone else had probably already copied the video and would put it right back up.  It was the internet, for fucks sake.  It probably already had a remixed version of it or some shit.

And then Kate killed herself.  Kate stood up in front of the school and just fucking jumped off the Prescott Dormitory like Nathan had always wanted to do himself.  It seemed so freeing as the flew through the air into her demise.  But unlike Kate, he was stuck dealing with the repercussions of her actions.

Like him getting expelled. He talked a mad game but he knew, with the incidence with the bitch in the bathroom and her lackey reporting him, that there was nothing he or his father could do anymore.  He was _fucked_. He had a few moments of solace while he was alone with Vic in her room but that was all he got.  While he was there, he got the call from his father.  He knew he had to take it, or at least he had to call back within the next few minutes or things would be so much worse for him when he would undoubtedly have to return to the Prescott Estate.

There was so much screaming for so long that it just all muddled into a blur.  It was probably better that he didn’t remember all the details. Even so, he was shaking violently by the end of the call, even with the help of his pills and the wine he downed them with.  He texted Mark on the burner phone, wanting to meet up in the Dark Room.  He needed comfort from someone who knew the full extent of the situation he was in.

He didn’t know that was something he’d never get.

Mark could be cruel sometimes but there were times when he was sweet.  At one time, he’d been the only home that Nathan really had.  Mark used to believe in him, teaching him the tricks of the trade of photography and giving him advice.  Mark used to be there when shit was hitting the fan, letting Nathan cry onto his shoulder.

Mark used to love him, Nathan was so _sure_ of it.  Mark wouldn’t show it in conventional ways but that made sense; their relationship was anything but conventional.  They were passionate artists so of course their feelings for one another were more easily expressed in the bedroom.  It wasn’t like either of them had a way with words or good with that mushy “I love you” shit that, quite frankly, sounded fake as hell to Nathan.

Nathan hoped, maybe even prayed to the God that Kate Marsh was so sure was there, that when Mark descended the Dark Room steps and found him crying hysterically on the couch that he’d get the comfort he so desperately needed.  He’d get to see the Mark that he was used to seeing almost a year before, when everything was okay and they were happy and almost a couple.

At least, that’s what Nathan felt like.

He didn’t know why he was surprised when instead of warmth and affection he was met with more screaming. More talk about how fucked up. How he was stupid.  How everything was his fault and he needed to be taught a lesson.  For at least the third time that day, Nathan wanted nothing more than to literally curl up in a ball in a corner and just die.

At some point Mark was grabbing him by his collar, pulling him up off the couch.  It took a while for Nathan to comprehend what Mark kept saying to him because it didn’t make sense considering the situation.  Mark wanted him to lower his pants and bend over the couch, but why?  They were fighting.  Sure, Mark would get rough with him sometimes but they never had angry fucks.  Plus, Nathan felt far too fragile to want to do such a thing, even though he was desperate for Mark’s affection.

Nathan shook his head, trying to steady his breathing so he could get out, “I’m not in the mood, Mark.”  His voice was frail, cracking on every other word even though he didn’t say much.  His throat felt raw from the crying.  Mark looked livid before but looked angrier after he said that and he wondered how in the hell Mark could really want to fuck after a day like that.

“Don’t argue. Just do it.” Mark sounded calm, far too calm compared to how pissed off he’d sounded mere moments before.  Nathan couldn’t explain why he found that to be even more terrifying or why it made him freeze.  He was shaking, but he hadn’t really stopped since he’d gotten off the phone with his father.  He willed himself to move, to go get a drink, to do what Mark requested, to do something, _anything_ , but he felt stuck.

It was only made worse as a hand landed on his cheek. It was hard enough to make him fall from the sudden impact, to leave a welt, but all signs of it would be gone by the morning. He felt Mark’s hand on the back of his shirt, grabbing it and guiding him so his face was buried in the arm of the couch, ass up in the air.  He felt like a ragdoll, like one of those girls they took pictures of except he was coherent enough to feel and be aware of everything that was going on.

His belt was undone and his pants pulled down to his knees and he was happy that at least he’d stopped crying.  He was quiet, or at least he tried to be, but he was almost certain that his heart was racing and his blood was pulsing loud enough that Jefferson would hear it.  He remained stoic as a lubed finger entered him, then two, then three.  He was grateful that at least Jefferson was preparing him even though he still wasn’t in the mood for sex.

He vaguely remembered some stupid video he had to watching in his Sex Ed class a few years ago, something about how consent is only given if the person says yes and if it wasn’t, it was called something else. That couldn’t be right, though, at least not in the situation he was in.  After all, Jefferson prepped him, and lubed himself, and they’d had sex before so this certainly wasn’t the same thing.

At least, that’s what Nathan told himself as Jefferson pushed into him.  It didn’t feel like those other times, though.  It didn’t make him feel good.  It made him feel used in a weird way that he couldn’t explain. Even as Jefferson hit his prostate and his own body started reacting, as he started getting hard himself, it still didn’t feel quite right.

He didn’t really understand the problem.  He didn’t understand why he felt so petrified when it was something he’d done countless times before.  He didn’t understand why he didn’t enjoy it when there were times previously he’d swore that he loved nothing more than being filled with cock.  He didn’t know why he didn’t like feeling dirty when he normally loved it; that was a different kind of dirty, though.

He also didn’t understand why he started sobbing again when he felt Jefferson release inside of him. Again, it was something he normally loved, something he positively adored the feeling off.  Yet there he was, sobbing hysterically into the arm of the couch.

Nathan started crying harder when Jefferson asked, “Nathan, are you okay?  Was I too rough?”

He couldn’t tell if the concern was real or fake.  Maybe it was all a bad dream.  Maybe none of it was real, the whole damn day was just a nightmare.  He’d wake up covered in sweat, maybe even semen, and tears but at least it would just be a weird occurrence to talk to Mark about later.

Living in that nightmarish haze was short-lived.  Everything became very real again as he was flipped over and his cock went in Jefferson’s mouth.  He didn’t want it.  He wanted Jefferson to stop but he didn’t think it would stop even if he pleaded for it to be over.

He tried to force himself to relax, knowing that he’d come faster if he did so.  He couldn’t.  He felt like vomiting as an involuntary moan escaped his lips.  He didn’t understand how something that made him feel gross, that made him feel so much emotional turmoil, could physically make him feel so good.  Maybe it was just another thing to add to the long list of what was wrong with him.

He closed his eyes, trying to think back to other times he’d been blown but actually enjoyed it physically and mentally.  He could remember snippets here and there; in the VIP section of the Vortex Club party after everyone had cleared out, in the showers at the boy’s dorms, in the bed of his truck, even in that very Dark Room.  It always kept returning to the present, though, and he _hated_ it.

It was bad enough that his body was betraying him but did his mind really have to as well?  It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it but he thought that it would at least pull through when he literally had nothing else he could use to cope at that moment.

It felt like it took an eternity for him to come.  He thought he’d feel better when he did.  He thought it would be better when Jefferson left.  He didn’t.  Even though he was feeling with come, a warm feeling in his stomach and groin from the orgasm, he felt cold, empty, and he wished he’d never texted Mark Jefferson on the burner phone that night.  He knew that he could move, finally, but he didn’t want to.  He laid there, on the couch in the Dark Room, and cried until his body was finally merciful enough to force him to fall asleep.


End file.
